The Monument
by greatprongsofdendalus
Summary: A one-shot telling Rachel's feelings after Hero Square is built, as Corinne tries to comfort her. Takes place 4 years after the end of Chasing the Prophecy. Spoilers abound. K plus for sadness.


A sharp word sent the javelin from a suit of armor into the target across from Rachel. Though she hit her mark, and from an impressive distance at that, it was difficult to hold onto the brief rush of elation that her successful command brought. Part of Rachel wasn't sure she wanted to. How could she let herself stop mourning with a clear conscience?

Before the javelin's _thunk_ had finished echoing off the vast walls of the training room, Rachel sent another flying. The result left her appeased, but not satisfied. Perhaps she should attempt something truly ambitious. The thought made some sense. After all, the tougher the command, the greater the thrill.

And then the pragmatist in Rachel took over. Was now the time? Somehow, while her stamina had increased tenfold after four years of Edomic study, the idea of willing objects to move or burst into flames suddenly made her want to lie down.

Rachel had often pondered the source of her power with Edomic, and eventually became aware of a sort of well deep inside her. A well containing all her intensity, her built up desires and dreams and fears, that she drew from whenever she commanded the forces of nature. The events of this morning had left that well feeling empty. She didn't have passion; just irritation. And it was the listless sort. The sort that, instead of burning into anger, sat in the air like steam. The kind that weighed down your limbs and lungs.

Maybe practicing her Edomic wasn't the smartest thing to do right now. The problem was, it was the _only _thing to do if she wanted to be left alone.

Rachel sighed, examining the room with weary eyes that itched under sandpaper lids. Suits of armor stood at attention. Targets, made in shapes anywhere from square to circle to humanoid, awaited the dulled edges of practice blades and arrows. A few locks and orantium replicas lingered in one corner, leftover from her lessons with Ferrin. Had it only been four years? The days since the flash had felt stretched and heavy, and their weight never seemed to disappear.

Clenching her jaw, Rachel extended a hand toward a third javelin and demanded it to burn. She didn't wait for the response before shouting another word that thrust it at a target with all the energy she could muster.

She wanted to do more. She nearly trembled with the desire for productivity, to at least pretend she could smooth out the tangles inside. Deep down, Rachel knew the exhaustion plagued her emotions; not her body or mind. She was _capable_ of doing more.

But she couldn't. Even though the rack of javelins almost begged to be set aflame or cloven in two, the suits of armor ready to crumple, the targets on the walls pathetically bare.

The knob turned on the door behind her, but the click was muted, as if whoever was outside worried about waking a sleeping child. She spun around in startled annoyance.

"Rachel?" Corinne poked her head through the doorway, eyes searching for a moment before they found Rachel near the center of the room. "Father and I heard lots of Edomic."

Some of her irritation fled, with guilt sliding in to replace it. They weren't trying to intrude; they were just worried about her. Rachel quietly hoped that Corinne couldn't sense her current mood. The dedication must have been hard on everyone, and the fact that she had been sulking while others wondered if she was alright only added to her shame.

Corinne's gaze strayed to the far wall. Rachel realized that the last javelin she had sent flying was still on fire. She quickly spoke the words to quench it, and the flames disappeared at once, the charred wood now the only sign it had ever existed. "Sorry," she winced.

"Don't worry," Corinne said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "Hardly anyone uses these rooms anymore. As weapons and supplies go, we have more than we need. No one will miss a javelin or two."

Rachel sighed. "Or three."

Corinne's brow furrowed. "Sit with me?" she offered, settling down on the floor with her legs crossed. Rachel followed suit.

The room seemed less imposing, more free from this angle. It made Rachel remember how tall the ceilings rose, how far the walls stretched on every side. Trying to make herself feel big and powerful had only made her more aware of her confines.

When she spoke again, Corinne's voice was quiet, full of unmasked concern. "Are you alright?"

Rachel shut her eyes and tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back another sigh. She rested her elbows on her knees, head in her hands. "I don't know. It's..." It was difficult for her to speak. Some unseen force weighed down her lips, and the thought of trying to move them to express what she felt was too overwhelming.

_You don't need to speak if you'd rather not, _came Corinne's mental voice. _I understand. And you don't have to tell me._

Sometimes Corinne and Galloran's ability to hear even her private thoughts made her the slightest bit uncomfortable, but at times like this, Rachel was almost glad for it. _You're probably just as sad as I am. I don't know why I can't deal with it like everyone else does._

_It's about Hero Square, isn't it?_

Rachel bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. _Yeah._

_I know Father was worried about that, _Corinne conveyed. _He wanted to hope it wouldn't open old wounds, but he knew it might no matter what. It's been a solemn afternoon everywhere._

_The monument is a great idea, _Rachel replied. _I'm glad it's there. I just... wish we didn't need it._

_Me too._

Tears brimmed in Rachel's eyes. She hated that all she had left of Drake, Nedwin, and Tark, of Ferrin and Io, were cold stone sculptures. She didn't want to remember her friends; she wanted to be beside them. She wanted them not to need remembering.

The sculptors had completed the monument last week, on the fourth anniversary of the day Ferrin and Tark had destroyed Felrook. Four years later, and the ache inside her still ran deeper than even Edomic could touch.

_Rachel?_

As Rachel's eyes began to sting with unshed tears, she decided to let them fall. It couldn't possibly hurt more to let them out than it did to keep them in, and there was no point in trying to hide them from Corinne. Still, out of habit, she clenched her jaw and looked away. The tears fell steadily. Rachel's breath kept getting caught in her chest and seemed to scrape at her lungs on the way in.

Without a word, Corinne's arms were wrapped around Rachel's shoulder as she shifted closer. Rachel gratefully leaned back into the hug, though now she was shaking much too hard for it to be comfortable. Could Corinne be crying, too? How could all this sobbing have been contained in one person?

Together they sat until Rachel's cheeks had nearly dried and her breathing calmed. The room felt warm, her eyelids even heavier and scratchier than before. Her temples pulsed.

"You ought to rest," Corinne said in a gentle tone. "We'll all have dinner in a few hours. Are you coming?"

She couldn't imagine conjuring up enough energy to act unaffected for an entire meal. But it would be ungrateful not to go. She hadn't spoken with Farfalee or Jasher after leaving the Celestine Library, it had been a year since she'd seen Aram, and she hadn't even met his wife yet. "I think so," she rasped, so quiet that she may as well have used telepathy instead. _Thanks, Corinne. I'm sorry._

_Don't worry about it. Please. _A pause. _Will you be alright?_

Rachel sighed. She knew Corinne didn't quite mean the question literally. Her grief would never truly leave, whether or not Rachel's mood improved. It was hard to imagine a scenario in which she could answer Corinne with an honest "yes". But the others had found some way to function, and before today, so had she. She could hold herself together for a while. So she nodded.

Patting her hand, giving her one last look of sympathy, Corinne stood up. _See you at dinner._ Then she slipped out the door.

It took several minutes of staring at the scorched, javelin-pierced wall before Rachel found it in herself to do the same.


End file.
